


W.O.W. (Week Of [Mostly] Woe); or, Even Hesitant Sunrises Shed Light

by ruethereal



Category: SHINee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruethereal/pseuds/ruethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunshine, daisies, erections mellow...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	W.O.W. (Week Of [Mostly] Woe); or, Even Hesitant Sunrises Shed Light

Day One

Jonghyun doesn’t know why this is happening.  He scoots his chair closer to the table and crosses his legs for good measure.  All they’re doing is eating dinner.  He shouldn’t have an—ah—uh— _erection_ while eating fried chicken with his bandmates at midnight.  They’re not even age-swapping, because this is definitely something that should happen to boys like Taemin, not men like him.  Oh, all right, it hasn’t been that long since he’s come of age, but still, this must be unhealthy.  The only logical explanation is that his body is responding to physical exertion.  They rehearsed the “Lucifer” choreography at the studio today, after all.  But this is weak reasoning, even to Jonghyun.  It’s been hours since they got back home to the dorm, but it’s only now that it—that it’s _like this_.

Jonghyun stands suddenly, planting both his hands close together on the edge of the table to shield his problem.  The four other boys, who’ve been chattering on and off up until then (not that Jonghyun was paying much attention), look at him with varying degrees of interest on their faces: Jinki, vacant and obviously eager to get back to his chicken; Taemin, innocently bemused; Minho, dutifully concerned; Kibum, impatient and _dis_ interested.

“Hyung?  What’s wrong?”

Jonghyun doesn’t really care who’s asking.

“I’m going to bed,” he grunts, before fleeing from the table, intent on getting rid of his—well, _that_.

Except Jonghyun doesn’t do—uh—this, often.  Not that he doesn’t know how (what guy doesn’t?).  But, locking the door to the bathroom and leaning against it with a weary sigh, he also knows that taking a second shower would raise suspicion.  With that thought, he glares at the toilet.  He better make this quick.  So he tells himself, but even after several minutes of touching, well, himself, he gives it up as a lost cause.  It doesn’t make any sense.  He’s already… ready, but nothing he tries is working.  He concludes it’s because he’s doing it like it’s a chore, not for any real pleasure, so of course he won’t get any—yeah, pleasure out of it.

He tramps uncomfortably to his shared room, glad he beat Minho despite his trouble in the bathroom.  He changes quickly into pajamas, sighing pitifully at the sight of the tented front, and decidedly crawls into bed, making sure to settle in on his side.

It isn’t long until Minho comes into the room, and Jonghyun tries his hardest to feign sleep and not fidget as the younger boy rustles about getting ready for bed.  Still, Minho wishes him goodnight, and Jonghyun distinctly feels his shoulders jerk and his problem jump at the boy’s murmur.

Jonghyun doesn’t do it often, but he prays in earnest that it’s gone back to normal by morning.

 

Day Two

Jonghyun says another prayer when he wakes up, and for two things: he slept peacefully and dreamlessly, and he is nice and calm in his pajama bottoms.  Both seem like miracles, since he fell asleep afraid of having sticky dreams and waking up—uh, sticky.  But he isn’t, so he tumbles out of bed and stretches, feeling especially energized, before approaching Minho’s bed.  He nudges between the other boy’s shoulder blades with his big toe.

“Hey!  Dongsaeng!  Sunshine shining time!”

Minho groans and rolls over, fixing Jonghyun with a bleary, heavy-lidded stare.

“Ngh, hyung.  Morning.”

Jonghyun blinks, then looks from Minho’s sleep-dazed face to his lower body.  No, it can’t be.  He runs back to his side of the room, gathers random, unidentified clothing and heads for the door, struggling a bit with the knob and giving Minho enough time to ask,

“Uh, hyung?”

“Breakfast,” he huffs, finally getting the door open.  “Really hungry.”

The last Jonghyun sees of Minho before slamming the door is the younger boy sitting up in bed, propped up with one arm, the hand of his other arm buried in his tousled hair.

 

The other boys seem to accept Jonghyun’s surliness as a good enough reason not to try engaging him in conversation on the way to the studio (though Jonghyun notices when Kibum spares him a withering glare for his mismatched outfit).  But when they take their first break from dancing, and Jonghyun isolates himself in the corner with a towel draped over his head, he hears someone walking up to him.  The anonymous person slides to the floor beside Jonghyun and brushes his knee with their own.

“You know, hyung—”

It’s Minho.

“—if you aren’t feeling well, you should tell us.”

His tone is carefully neutral, but Jonghyun feels guilty for dampening the mood for the group.  He pulls the towel off his head with a small sigh and turns to the other boy.

“Feeling human again?”

Jonghyun grins crookedly in answer.

“Good,” Minho says, patting Jonghyun’s thigh once then standing with a single fluid motion.  “You were dancing rubbish.”

About to push himself up off the floor, Jonghyun pauses to gawp at the younger boy, but Minho just laughs and offers his hand.  Jonghyun takes it, perhaps gripping harder than he needs to (though Minho looks even more amused), and together they get him upright.

Thankfully for Jonghyun, the rest of the day is uneventful—rehearsal is productive, dinner is light-hearted, and he and Minho get ready to sleep at the same time in comfortable silence.

“I’m getting the light now,” Minho mumbles.

Jonghyun wriggles a little deeper beneath his sheets, snuffling his assent; then, his eyes already burning with the need for sleep, “Oh, Minho.”

“Mm?”

“Thank you—for today, I mean.”

Minho chuckles from across the room.

“Good night, hyung.”

 

Day Three

“—ng.”

Jonghyun grunts his displeasure at being woken up, waving a heavy arm in the general direction of where the voice is coming from.

“Hyung.”

A hand roughly shaking his shoulder joins the insistent voice that is undeniably Minho’s, and Jonghyun just grunts a bit more.

“Sunshine shining time, hyung.”

Jonghyun can hear Minho laughing as he imitates Jonghyun’s greeting from the previous morning.  Then, the blanket is whipped from his body and, even in his half-awake state, Jonghyun notices the abrupt absence of Minho’s laughter.  Unsticking his eyelids, he peers about for the younger boy.

“What?  What now?”

“Ah, hyung…”

Jonghyun looks at Minho, standing at his bedside, fully dressed and ready for the day’s schedule, arm limp and the blanket still clutched in his fist, an expression of mild surprise.  Jonghyun follows Minho’s line of sight and, halfway there, Jonghyun realizes that—no, it _can’t_ be—but, it is.  Jonghyun bolts upright, crosses his legs and hunches over on himself, his whole body burning with shame.

“Um, we’re leaving soon,” Minho says, and Jonghyun feels the sheet being gingerly placed back onto his bed.

“Be right there,” Jonghyun groans miserably.

But it doesn’t seem Minho really cares, the door clicking shut before Jonghyun even finishes his sentence.

 

Jonghyun is so distraught he almost forgets to brush his teeth, spending more time debating inwardly over whether or not to take a cold shower and instead settling for splashing himself with cold water.  When he finally gets to their car, the other four waiting outside somewhat patiently, he simply brushes past everyone else and strategically takes the backseat by himself.  He feigns sleep once more, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his forehead against the window.

The silence in the car is tense.  Then, halfway to the studio:

“So, Jjong—”

It’s Jinki.  Judging by the proximity of his voice, Jonghyun correctly guesses that the leader is sitting directly in front him but has turned in his seat.

“—Minho says you slept well.”

The car fills with snickers, though Jonghyun also hears a disappointed snort from Kibum.  He breathes shakily through his nose and keeps his eyes shut, determined to make it to the studio ignoring his bandmates.  It’s not unexpected, but it’s still a pain when his bandmates refuse to leave him with just a little bit of his dignity.

“Who were you dreaming about, hyung?”

“Me, of course.”

“Which SNSD-noona, huh, Jjong-hyung?”

“That’s so cute.  Imagine what the fans would think.”

“I bet it was Kim Yuna.”

“What if it wasn’t a noona at all?”

“Maybe Minho makes their room too hot.”

There’s a beat of silence, all the boys digesting Kibum’s off-hand, careless suggestion; then:

“Hey!  You, shut up!”

Jonghyun almost jumps at Minho’s thunderous shout, and he almost fails to resist opening his eyes when he can hear several of the other boys hitting each other.  He isn’t any less embarrassed, but at least Minho’s getting a small share of the humiliation.  The rest of the car ride is impenetrably uncomfortable, and when they finally get to the studio, Jonghyun purposefully lags behind the rest, focusing only on his feet.  Still, he gets the nagging suspicion that one, if not all, of the other boys keeps turning to check on him.  He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh.

It’s going to be a long day.

 

Day Four

The group’s funk from the previous day has carried over and stunk up this day.  Jonghyun and Minho dress in silence, their backs to each other.  Breakfast and the car ride to the studio are a somber affair: Minho is still ignoring Kibum for what he said in the car; Jinki is ignoring Minho, apparently for pulling Taemin’s hair when the maknae made a particularly rude gesture; Jonghyun is resolutely ignoring everyone.

Things change when, in return, the other four continuously shoot Jonghyun dark looks during practice, as if it’s his fault they bickered the day before.  The five come to a head when Minho accidentally treads on Jonghyun’s foot during a transition.  Jonghyun immediately freezes, and he’s yelling before he can stop to think better of it:

“You, don’t touch me.  Onew-hyung, stop singing with the music, it’s driving me crazy.  And you two, Taemin, Key, stop making faces at me, I can see it in the mirror, are you guys stupid?”

The ensuing silence is suffocating, and the four boys instinctively step away from Jonghyun.

“I—” he starts, but then he can do little more than stare into each of his bandmates’ faces in turn, getting dizzy from the speed at which his eyes are darting about, torn between weeping manically and screaming gibberish to demonstrate his frustration.

Instead, he storms out of the studio with a muttered, “Bathroom.”

  
Minho wouldn’t exactly be the last person Jonghyun wants to see (he’s rather upset with all four of the others), but when the taller boy walks in on him splashing his face with cold water, he’s both half-heartedly and unnecessarily hostile.

“What do you want now?”

The younger boy seems to sense Jonghyun’s forced anger and politely offers only a small shrug.  But this infuriates Jonghyun, and so he capitalizes on the silence.

“Won’t the others think we’re doing something dirty, huh, Minho?  It’s your own fault.  What’d you have to go and tell everyone for, anyway?”

Minho runs a hand through his hair.  But when he finally answers, it’s with a question of his own.

“Is that why you’ve been acting weird lately?”

And it’s Jonghyun’s turn to hold his tongue.  He glares at his reflection, gripping the edge of the counter, water still dripping from his chin.

“Sorry, hyung.  That wasn’t fair for me to do.”

Jonghyun snorts.

“Stupid.”

Minho laughs once, the sound warm and ricocheting off the tiled walls of the bathroom.  Jonghyun is so disoriented by the sound, he jumps when he realizes Minho is standing at his shoulder.

“Y-you—you’ve caused me a lot of trouble, you know,” he mumbles, refusing to acknowledge the younger boy’s presence.

But Minho leans forward, twisting his body so his chest brushes against Jonghyun’s elbow, and Jonghyun has to look away from the mirror, taking a sudden interest in the marble sink.

“I just wanted to make you flustered,” Minho explains, smile evident in his voice.  “You’re cute that way, hyung.  I didn’t know they would start making fun of me, too.”

Jonghyun straightens up then, taking a careful step back from his junior.

“Don’t call me cute,” he says.  “Come on, then.  Back to work.”

Jonghyun strides past Minho to lead the way back to the studio.  Unfortunately for Jonghyun, Minho manages to glimpse his reluctant grin.

 

Day Five

Jonghyun wakes up to an empty room and it takes him a moment to remember Minho’s busy with Dream Team today.  He feels sluggish getting ready, but he takes his lack of an—yes, one of those—as a good omen.

Breakfast starts the day off brighter and warmer.

Kibum greets him with a brief kiss to his cheek, which Jonghyun willingly accepts as an apology, returning the sentiment by taking the Almighty dongsaeng’s hand in his and tenderly stroking the boy’s inner wrist.  Kibum smiles; so does Jonghyun.  Seeing this exchange, Taemin sidles over to the vocalist and mimics the affectionate gesture, lacing their fingers and rubbing tiny circles on Jonghyun’s palm with his thumb.  Jonghyun thinks his face might split in half, he’s grinning so wide.  Jinki stands off to the side, watching his three juniors fondly.  And on the way to the car, he drapes his arm across Jonghyun’s shoulders, touching their heads together.  The leader does a whispered imitation of Jonghyun’s “Love Like Oxygen” entrance, but today, Jonghyun just laughs along.

Jonghyun thinks today will be a good day.

 

In the studio, practicing “Lucifer” without Minho, they take turns dancing the missing boy’s solo, the attempts getting increasingly ridiculous and windmill-like.  Next they challenge each other at the number of consecutive pirouettes they can do (Taemin wins, of course, with nine; Jinki loses, of course, with one and a half).  When Jinki finally decides they’ve been unproductive enough—all of them sweaty and sore from cartwheels instead of choreography—he calls them to order, bellowing in a way reminiscent of Minho.

“You guys wanna die?  Let’s dance already!”

In spite of their continued laughter, they obey, and the air of the studio is one of focus as much as one of camaraderie.

 

Late in the afternoon, when the four reach the dorms, Jonghyun finds Minho asleep in their room.  Jonghyun thinks Minho must’ve hurt himself doing something silly again, sleeping so early in the day.  He still needs to shower, but he can’t seem to drag himself away from the sight of the younger boy’s back.  He must’ve just beaten the rest of the boys, judging by his still-wet hair.  What’s more, Minho’s wearing only sweatpants and has forgone a blanket.  Maybe Kibum was right about Minho making the room too hot because Jonghyun is suddenly boiling in his skin.

Jonghyun blinks himself into coherence, shaking his head experimentally and pawing at his groin.  Just great.  Well, he has to shower anyway—may as well be a freezing one.

 

Day Six

Jonghyun doesn’t know what compels him to do so, but—here he is.

“Minho,” he stage whispers, almost hoping the younger boy holds up to his notoriety of being impossible to wake up.  He tries once more, just so he can say he at least made the effort (though he grudgingly admits that even he wouldn’t buy “I whispered your name twice, you idiot”).

“Minho?”

“Ngh?”

Jonghyun freezes, wondering if teenage boys are like dogs and can sense fear.

“Jjong-hyung?”

Minho’s voice is hoarse from sleep and somehow se—no, Jonghyun was not about to think that Minho’s voice is sexier, since he doesn’t think it’s sexy to begin with.  Sure, it’s deep and full, and Jonghyun thinks the rapper should be given more chances to actually sing, but that doesn’t mean he thinks it’s sexy.  It’s nice, is all.  Yes, that.

Unfortunately for Jonghyun, his inner debate allows Minho the time to roll over and even sit up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“—ung?”

“Huh?”

Jonghyun blinks and immediately catches Minho’s eyes, already wide and bright and switching back and forth from Jonghyun’s face to what Jonghyun has in his hands.

“What… Is that for me?”

The younger boy looks pointedly at what Jonghyun is holding out, sounding caught between amusement and shock.  Jonghyun drops his eyes to what he’s holding as well.  He doesn’t even know—he can’t believe—he steels himself and offers the tray with trembling arms (so much for his new biceps, he thinks).

“I b-brought breakfast for you because I thought maybe you went to sleep without eating dinner.”

The words tumble out, and if they sound foolish and awkward Minho pays no mind.  In fact, the younger boy looks utterly pleased, and if Jonghyun didn’t know better he’d say the usually stoic, intense dongsaeng is _blushing_.  But, this realization just makes Jonghyun blush, completely erasing any momentary smugness, and before he can help it (how can he, really?) he’s very much aware of a stirring in his jeans.  At least with the tray in front of Minho’s face, he won’t notice Jonghyun’s condition.  Or so Jonghyun hopes.

“Well?”

“Huh?”

Jonghyun blinks several times more.  Minho laughs, throaty and still sleep-muddled, and holds out his arms.

“My breakfast in bed.  Do I get it or not?”

Mind whirling for a way to escape unscathed, Jonghyun lowers the tray to waist-level under the pretense of it being heavy—it isn’t—and takes a few steps back.

“Not in bed,” he says, before carefully folding his legs to settle into a squat and placing the tray on the floor.  “That’s bad manners.”

Minho laughs again, saying, “Yes, yes, okay,” and slides off his bed and onto the floor opposite Jonghyun.  It isn’t until Minho does this that Jonghyun remembers the key fact that Minho is very much half-naked.

“Thank you, hyung.  I’ll eat this well.”

But Jonghyun barely hears, just nods and waits for Minho to be too occupied with eating so he can leave without seeming rude.  But Minho is studying him curiously, which Jonghyun would notice if he wasn’t taking great pains to focus every fiber of his short stature on the pillow behind Minho’s very, very much naked shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to eat, too?”

“Huh?”

Jonghyun thinks Minho should stop laughing that way—you know, the way that makes his stomach shrivel up and his brain go fuzzy and his pants—you know.  Jonghyun laughs too, albeit tightly and squeakily.

“No, no, this is special, just for you,” he improvises wildly.

But Minho doesn’t listen, just holds out a soup-filled spoon.

“Say, ‘ah,’ hyung.”

Jonghyun groans inwardly before obeying.  He thinks today will be another long day.

 

Day Seven

Jonghyun doesn’t understand.  Just because he’s never shown any real interest in girls shouldn’t mean he’s interested in _boys_.  He’s best friends with all his bandmates.  So why now?  Why Minho?  Not that there’s anything wrong with Minho.  Minho is…  He’s nice.  But he’s nice to everyone.  _But_ he also likes to make fun of Jonghyun.  Well, Jonghyun knows that if he was taller than someone older than him, he would make fun of them too.  Still, he also knows that Minho is only mean to people he likes, like everyone in the band.  Jonghyun isn’t special, he’s just short.

“D-damn it.”

Jonghyun opens his eyes and can’t remember when he closed them.  He decides it must’ve been around the same time he started touching himself.  So much for cold showers.  He never imagined a time when he’d be angry at his own—self, but here he is again, glaring at _himself_.  The spray of cold water is harsh against his over-sensitized skin, but he endures to shampoo and soap up all over again.

When he finally gets back to his room, he’s greeted with a Minho-shout that almost makes him want to be back in the cold water.

“Hyung!  You take too long!”

Jonghyun worries his bottom lip, wondering if it’s safe to look at the younger boy.  Assuring himself that he _should_ be safe—uh, erection-wise, since he took care of it in the shower—he takes the chance.  Thankfully (Jonghyun thinks), Minho is fully dressed.  He grins crookedly, glad it feels somewhat natural.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Hyung!”

Jonghyun flinches.  He doesn’t see why Minho still has to shout.  They’re hardly ten feet apart.

“Wh-what?  I said sorry.”

“Hyung.”

Minho’s voice is softer this time, but Jonghyun jumps anyway—Minho’s _closer_ , too.

“You have to dry your hair properly, or you’ll get sick, dummy.”

And before Jonghyun can put up a fight, his towel is yanked out of his hand and thrown back over his head.  Jonghyun pouts even though he knows Minho can’t see.

“Hey now, who’s the hyung and who’s the dongsaeng?”

Minho’s hands, as gentle as they are big, rub his hair undeterred, and the taller boy chuckles.

“Dongsaeng are supposed to take care of their hyung, too, right?”

Jonghyun stares at their feet, their toes almost touching.  He’s perfectly fine in his jeans.  Now it’s his chest that’s tight.  The feeling isn’t uncomfortable, just… different.  Nice different.

“Mm, I guess so.”

Jonghyun wonders how today will be.

 

Today, it seems, cares nothing for Jonghyun.  It’s the first day of shooting the “Lucifer” MV and one would think his morning, ah, activities and nerves, together, would keep him out of pants trouble.  But no matter how much he tells himself it’s because of the physical exertion and adrenaline or how much he thinks of unbelievably unattractive people or how much he (silently) curses the designers for putting him in such strange clothes, the director has to cut every few takes to ask for the lighting to be adjusted.

There’s no way the production staff and his bandmates don’t know what’s going on.  Though no one says anything or complains, Jonghyun feels all the worse for it.

“Ah, Jonghyun-sshi,” the director mutters, pulling him aside during their lunch break—well, everyone else’s lunch break; Jonghyun feels too sick to eat.  “Are you all right?  Do you, ah, think you can take care of that?”

Jonghyun doesn’t need him to explain.  He nods, then slips away, grateful and bitter when he notices everyone pretending _not_ to notice.  But once he’s in the bathroom, all he wants to do is punch the wall.  He’s sick of having this stupid problem.  But he doubts they do hand makeup, and he’s pretty sure that if he were to punch the wall, he’d need a lot of makeup.

There’s a knock on the door, but before he can ask who it is, the person on the other side lets themselves in.  He doesn’t know why, but Jonghyun isn’t all that surprised when he sees it’s Minho.

“Hyung?  Are you okay?”

Jonghyun rubs the back of his neck with a grunt.

“No,” he answers honestly.

A corner of Minho’s lips twitch just once, but Jonghyun sees it anyway and glares.

“It isn’t funny.”

Minho mirrors him, cupping his own nape and sighing.

“Hyung.”

Jonghyun rolls his eyes, but humors the younger boy with a weary, “What now?”

‘What now’ seems to be Minho grabbing Jonghyun’s hand and bodily dragging him into the nearest stall.  It’s a sign of how surprised Jonghyun is that he doesn’t make the slightest bit of resistance, much less any noise.  That is, until Minho grabs him by both of his shoulders and turns him around so they’re back-to-front.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, craning his neck to—well, Jonghyun doesn’t know what he wants to do, just that it’d be less frightening if he could see what Minho was doing.

“Just—” starts the younger boy, his breath damp against Jonghyun’s jaw, but it seems he doesn’t know what he wants to do either.  “Just don’t look.”

Before Jonghyun can ask, “At what?” Minho’s hands are under his shirt, palms flat and fingers splayed, and Jonghyun swears they’re unbearably hot.

“M-Minho…”

“Shut up, hyung.”

Minho’s voice has regained its infuriating, laugh-like timbre, and Jonghyun wants to growl his annoyance.  But Jonghyun isn’t annoyed—what with Minho running his hands up Jonghyun’s abdomen and down his sides.  No, in fact, he’s very much enjoying what Minho is doing.  Then Jonghyun feels what he suspects—oh, all right, he’s _sure_ it’s Minho’s mouth on his neck.  Jonghyun’s knees knock together and he puts out both his hands for fear of collapsing, because those are without a doubt Minho’s teeth and Minho’s tongue doing—things— _wonderful_ things—to his neck and shoulder.

Jonghyun has half the mind to think about telling Minho to stop because he doesn’t want to need makeup _there_ like a girl or because he doesn’t want to get scolded for getting his top stretched out or, especially, because Minho isn’t exactly helping with his problem.  If anything, he’s making it worse.

“You—Minho—” he gasps.

“Hm?”

Minho’s voice, trapped against Jonghyun’s skin, vibrates and sends heat through his whole body, enough to make his toes curl in his boots.  It’s one thing to think about telling Minho to stop, and another thing entirely to actually tell Minho to stop.  Jonghyun comes to the quick decision that he doesn’t want to.

“I—”

 _I want more_ and _I want to touch you, too_ and _I want to kiss you_ are Jonghyun’s immediate thoughts.  Instead, he can only whimper, “Why?”

He shivers because those are definitely Minho’s fingers at the button and zip of his pants.  Minho’s stepped closer now, molding their legs together, and his lips brush the shell of Jonghyun’s ear.  Minho’s answer is more hot, hot air than anything else:

“I told you, didn’t I?  Dongsaeng are supposed to take care of their hyung.”

The air in the bathroom, Jonghyun discovers, is jarringly cold, his pants pulled down around his thighs.  Something touches his mouth and, opening his eyes (he should start paying attention to when he closes them, he tells himself), he sees it’s Minho’s hand.  And somehow, he knows what to do, and so parts his lips to experimentally lick at Minho’s palm.

Minho chuckles, his mouth pressed to the spot below Jonghyun’s ear.

“Tickles,” he huffs.

Jonghyun would tell him his eyelashes tickle, too, but he’s quite occupied with darting the tip of his tongue in between each of Minho’s fingers.  When Minho pulls his hand away, Jonghyun’s stomach flips with anticipation, but then he’s back, his fingertips nudging gently at Jonghyun’s bottom lip.

“Brat,” he mumbles, nevertheless sucking Minho’s first two fingers into his mouth.

Minho’s chest, flush against Jonghyun’s back, rumbles with a chuckle-turned-groan as Jonghyun expertly slicks his tongue between the digits, and Jonghyun can only smirk around them.  But maybe Minho feels it, because he extracts his fingers from Jonghyun’s mouth and, without preamble, wraps his hand around Jonghyun’s length.  This time, they moan together.  And maybe they’re being a little reckless, not bothering to keep quiet—never mind the fact that they’re doing this sort of thing in a public bathroom while they’re supposed to be working—but neither boy seems to care.  Jonghyun, surely, has lost all half-thoughts of stopping.

It’s foreign and new in a nice—good—no—incredible way, being touched by Minho like this, nothing at all like touching himself.  Jonghyun wonders how it would be to touch Minho, but then Minho palms the head of his cock with a small twist and Jonghyun unwittingly falls forward so he’s leaning on his forearms, so he’s pushing up against Minho’s groin.  This is nice and incredible and new, too, feeling Minho’s length, hot and hard and—Jonghyun spares a moment to laugh inwardly— _trapped_ in his own pants, pressed against his ass.  Jonghyun teasingly rolls his hips and is pleased to feel the younger boy’s legs quake, to hear the younger boy warble something that may or may not be Jonghyun’s name.

Hearing his name like that, desperate and encouraging and, what’s more, without “hyung” attached to it is thrilling and erotic and intimate and Jonghyun grows as dizzy as much as he grows emboldened.  Blindly, he reaches for Minho’s other hand, taking it from his hip and bringing it up to his mouth.  As if by some silent, mutual agreement, Jonghyun takes three of Minho’s fingers between his lips the same time Minho quickens the fisting of Jonghyun’s cock.  And if they weren’t noisy enough then, they sure as hell aren’t bothering to be inconspicuous now—Jonghyun moaning continuously around Minho’s fingers, Minho breathing Jonghyun’s name like a mantra against his neck, and the arrhythmic slick sliding of Minho’s hand, Jonghyun’s cock.

It’s a heady, obscene harmony, but it’s theirs.

It’s more the intensity than the actual arrival of his orgasm that catches Jonghyun by surprise—his entire back arching as if in slow motion so he feels the stuttering of each vertebra—his vision alternating between consuming pitch and merciless hallucinogenic spirals—his crying out of Minho’s name so deafening he can’t tell if it’s only in his head or not.  He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to come down from his post-orgasmic high, his mind stitching back together from its blissful unraveling sweet and slow.  But when he’s lucid enough, he realizes Minho has a hand to Jonghyun’s chest (when did he pull his fingers out from Jonghyun’s mouth, anyway?) as the only means of supporting the shorter boy.

Jonghyun straightens up as best he can—his legs feel awfully pudding-like—and Minho unsticks his hand from Jonghyun.  Jonghyun is only vaguely aware of this (and of Minho using toilet paper to clean him off after a murmured, “Sorry, hyung, let me,” and of the toilet flushing and of Minho guiding his pants back up his legs) because, now that his mind is less fuzzy, all Jonghyun can think is that he’s hot from _embarrassment_.

“—ng?”

Jonghyun turns to Minho before his courage can fail him.

“Why would you do something like that, you idiot?”

His voice rings ominously in the bathroom.  Jonghyun thinks he might be glaring up at Minho, but even if he is, the other boy looks neither ashamed nor intimidated.  Minho just rubs the back of his head gingerly.  Watching this tiny action, Jonghyun gets queasy—he realizes it’s the same hand Minho just used to—uh, do _that_.

“—like you, of course.”

Jonghyun feels his jaw go slack.  What was that?

“What was that?”

Minho laughs, dropping his hand to take one of Jonghyun’s and tug the older boy towards him.

“I _said_ I like you, hyung.”

Jonghyun blinks up at him dumbly.

“You do?”

“Yes, dummy.  Even very tall people do these sorts of things.”

“Hey—!”

Any sort of rebuke Jonghyun planned to make goes out the window when Minho leans down and takes the older boy’s bottom lip between his teeth and licks into his mouth.  Jonghyun wants to melt or die; instead, he fists both his hands in Minho’s shirt and reciprocates eagerly, nudging Minho’s tongue aside with his own to taste Minho as well.  Minho smiles into the kiss, and Jonghyun would get angry if he wasn’t smiling, too.  The taller boy wraps his arms around Jonghyun’s waist, drawing him closer.

Jonghyun gasps and pulls away, glancing down between their bodies.

“You—”

“What, hyung?” Minho almost-whines, leaning in again.

Jonghyun unclenches his fists and pushes Minho back.

“You’re still like _that_ ,” he hisses, jerking his chin at Minho’s obvious erection.

“Oh, yeah, well—”

Jonghyun leers up at him.

“Hyung take care of their dongsaeng—”

“Jonghyun-sshi?”

Damn it.  Noona can be so inconvenient.

“Are—ah—are you okay in there?  We’re filming again soon.”

Jonghyun collapses forward, resting his forehead heavily against Minho’s chest which is heaving with silent laughter.  Just when he was about to do something good…

“Yes,” he shouts, hoping he doesn’t sound too upset.  “I’ll be right there.”

Minho presses his lips to the top of Jonghyun’s head.

“You go.  I’ll, uh, do this myself,” he mumbles into Jonghyun’s hair.

Jonghyun wants to pout but opts for professionalism.

“Don’t take too long,” he orders, stepping back and narrowing his eyes at the other boy.  “We’re supposed to be working.”

About to leave the stall, Jonghyun faces Minho once more and, getting up on tiptoes, pecks his dongsaeng on the lips.  Well, he was mostly professional.

“Thank you, again.”

 

Everyone—the production team and the other three boys, alike—seems content to ignore Jonghyun’s, and later, Minho’s flushed faces and frequent exchanges of significant, lingering glances.  Like this, the day ends smoothly and successfully.  And if they find it strange, the rest of the band says nothing (though Jonghyun thinks he hears Kibum mutter an amused, “Figures”) of Jonghyun and Minho napping in the backseat together on the way home.

 

Day… Jonghyun’s lost track

“—ng.”

Jonghyun stirs slowly, snuffling a bit.

“Wake up, hyung.”

Jonghyun groans.  He doesn’t want to get up, and Minho’s using that stupid—okay, fine, adorable laughing voice again.

“Don’t want to,” he mumbles, pulling the blanket further up his body and tangling their legs together possessively.

“But it’s sunshine shining time.”

Jonghyun opens his eyes just to glare groggily at Minho, the younger boy’s face inches from his own.  This close, he has to cross his eyes to see Minho’s impish grin.  But, reluctantly or not, it doesn’t matter: Jonghyun’s smiling, too.

**Author's Note:**

> For my wife: unicorn turds, glitter grenades, and rainbow vomit <3


End file.
